In November 2004 I was a sophomore at St. Augustine Academy in a quiet suburban town called Redwood Falls, Minnesota, and on paper my family looked perfect. My father Thomas owned a respected real estate law firm, while my mother Sandra ran every social circle like a general planning a campaign.
My older brother Evan was in dental school and treated like the golden child, and my sister Melissa was studying education and never questioned anything. I was the youngest and the unexpected one, the child who never quite fit into the image my mother wanted to present to the world.
I learned early to stay quiet and not take up space, because attention in our house was reserved for achievements that impressed other people. When I said I made the honor roll my father would nod politely and then return to talking about Evan, as if my success was background noise instead of something worth celebrating.
I met Jordan Hayes at the public library downtown, which was the only place I ever felt safe and unseen in a good way. He was seventeen, worked at his uncle’s auto shop, and had a calm kindness that made me feel like I mattered for the first time in my life.